#24hoursopen

Submissions & reblogs. welcome to your 24/7 corner café, have a seat & read some poetry, we'll be with you in a bit. If you want to chat, shoot me a DM @alaskaisnothere

[24hoursopen]

You know that she likes it better when you type it all in the lowercase. And that every time she sends messages with all the letters typed in the uppercase, she's furious. And that the period at the end of her sentences is reflective of her being passive agressive. And that she doesn't remember the movies she has seen and the places she has been to. And that everytime you watch a movie together, she falls asleep midway. And that the little scar on her forehead is from the time when she tripped on her study-table when she was four. And that she loves dog-videos even though she's shit scared of dogs. And that the butterflies in her gut flutter everytime you speak of blessing her cheek with a kiss. And that she hates public display of affection. But if you don't hold her hand when you are travelling together, she feels like you are embarrassed of her. And that everytime your hands touch on accident as you are taking a walk in the park, her cheeks turn red. And that she is religiously against the concept of making playlists, but whenever you make one for her, she listens to it on loop.

And that she is scared of heights. And that she listens to that particular song when she is struggling to sleep. And that her stomach is wobbly everytime you are mad at her. And that she still misses her best friend from kindergarten. And that she loves to organize the icons on her desktop in an alphabetical order. And that she is afraid of commitment. And that she hated the concept of slam books. And that she never sleeps without the plushy that her best friend gave her on her birthday. And that she hates embroidered t-shirts because when the threads on the inner side of them rub against her skin, she feels uneasy. And that she would die for the causes that matter to her. And that she sits on her bathroom floor with her back against the vanity everytime her hands are trembling and she feels like she is short of breath. And that she hates sending emails. And that she looks the prettiest when she's happy. And that she is a figment of your imagination. And that she doesn't exist. And that you keep romanticizing your life.🌈🌼

-Reetika

[alaskaisnothere]

2024 is the year we're being creative again. and i know it's the middle of April, don't get sassy with me. and i know my last post was last year and i haven't been consistent with my writing but progress isn't linear. life isn't linear. i stopped writing because writing carried expectations. writing made me competitive, mostly with myself, writing made me disappointed that my feelings weren't as big as other people's. do you know how lame it is to complain about having a little anxiety about your life when people are mourning their loved ones or processing trauma and i'm here like: hey look at these words, nothing is wrong with me but i just get a little sad sometimes. but screw that, i'll be cringe and i'll be lame but i'll be me. and i'm starting to like this version of me.

[alaskaisnothere]

it's eclipse season and you can't look at me. you say that the sun always burned you and you can't be burned again. even though you've burned me, but that wasn't intentional so that doesn't count, you say. you wish i always rainy, because you only feel good when you feel bad. because that's familiar. because feeling bad takes no effort and you've only ever seen rock bottom and chained yourself there. is it too much work to improve yourself, sweet baby? you won't drag me down with you, either step up or enjoy the grave you've dug all those years. i don't take scraps anymore.

[alaskaisnothere]

do you think that i would be into you if i wasn't mentally ill? or would that turn you off because that meant that i was just like all the other girls from your past? i'm trying to rationalize our relationship because i want to talk to you on my own terms, i don't care about your needs because you didn't care about mine when you dropped the bomb. and i hate how selfish that made me and i hate how you still make me laugh but you can't adhere to the picture of you i created in my head. just like i'm not the manic pixie dream girl you made me out to be. so we'll just go on our separate ways, our knuckles turning white because we can't seem to let go.

[24hoursopen]

Warrior of Pen

How much emotion can pour and fill the

empty void which sits before your eyes?

A void so vast you could fit all the lakes and rivers,

oceans and their sands.

still it be empty,

still it be void.

raw but pure, submit thyself.

Warrior of Pen, thy enemy is paper

when the battle ends, the void filled.

ink scars with a tale to tell

and thy empty enemy, felled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By Andrew Kelly(AKE)2021 ~broken-brain-syndrome

[mesmerizing-words]

Trust me. The days you feel like giving up , are the days when you want to give it all you got.

[recommendedsongsreturns]

underlying the glory of the golden dawn

is my dream of our past adventures

the forest and the sea all awakening

the breath of sacred poetry

the shrine of your artistry

i can only trace the vision behind your

bold eyes and it is profound

the tour you embark upon

the lightning in your heart

the ecstasy of each star as their crescendo

brings us both to the song's peak

to the labyrinth of the deepest blue

[jimcheekuniverse]

Special Special Girl

You came in dancing When I could only sit You love me with vigor And joy, so lit

What we do for each other Is a kind of mystery But oh when I feel it There’s only you and me

[4sss]

Each night I look up to the stars and wish we could be in the same space to love them together.

J.c.A

[pretty-bon-es]

I wish I wrote the way I thought; Obsessively, Incessantly, With maddening hunger. I’d write to the point of suffocation. I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns, Manuscripts spiraling out like tentacules into abysmal nothing. And I’d write about you a lot more than I should.

[poetbitesback]

it’s the same dream every night: hands become shadows that reach through locked doors/ something pulls open my ribs/ there’s a pool of moonlight on the pillow beside/ she feeds the monkshood garden beside the heart/ drowning drowning drowning/ I tell myself “I’ve never needed the moon, but she’ll always need me”/ blood rushes into airways/ close my eyes tighter and maybe this really will become love/ I’ve never been my own/ a girl/ a garden/ a place for deadly memories to grow

[the-everlonely-poet]

Sweet boy,

what did I ever do

to deserve you?

You take care of me,

you look at me with awe.

You see my flaws

and still think

they’re the most

beautiful things in the world.

Somehow you understood

all the pain and

all the anger.

Immediately I knew

that you were meant

for me. So now, I look

at you in wonder

knowing that you

are by my side

forever.

I love you.

[wordsbyt]

I wonder where you go?

Where do you go when you leave this universe?

The very fact that we even ask this question, tells me you have to go somewhere.

Do we go home?

To the place that has been gone so long but has always been there. Do we go back? Back to being a child. Carefree. No pain or illnesses. No oxygen tanks. No problems.

Do we travel thru space and time? Get to relive every good or bad decision. See the what was’s. The what is’s, and the what could have been’s.

Surely we just don’t leave.

My Aunt Margerat went home last night.

I’d like to think she is with my Mom, her other sisters, her brothers, her mom and dad, Uncle Gil, my dad and the rest of my uncles, and everyone else that would make her feel at home.

Laughing so loud.

Drinking coffee and eating donuts from that bakery in Portland that had the best ones.

What a special place that would be.

Right where Aunt Margerat would want to be.

Maybe I’ll see her again.

I think she’s almost home.

❤️

[alaskaisnothere]

I stopped writing because I thought "who the fuck is reading my words anyway" as if writing to get the poison out isn't enough, as if I'm not enough. And I'll never be, because I'll always have that need to make people feel something. I'll always have that urge to scream my feelings and hear back that they're valid. That I'm valid.

[alaskaisnothere]

and i was wondering why do we all get sad at five pm? what is it about that specific hour that makes us feel so worthless and hopeless? maybe it's because we already had to endure so much during our day and we just can't wait for it be over, or on the other hand we experienced joy like never before and the day is about to be over. maybe it's because we never enjoy being in the middle because we're always straining our eyes trying to see the end.

[skiesandflowerss-deactivated202]

//In His Last Days He Sings A Song About The Life Of A Man Without A Woman//

My nana tells me stories of his newly married days when there was someone to hold his hands whenever the dawn came.

He keeps on blabbering some names and one of them is quite repetitive, the name that brings spring to his heart

He looks in the mirror and tries to find someone behind him and all that he gets is memories of his good old days crawling onto his skin like they even know that he needs them the most

I ask him how she looked like when he saw her for the first time, he says : she looked like a poetry flawless and written to make you feel something,

she looked like that light from a small window that falls onto a tiny corner of a room and brightens every part of it

She was like that root of an old tree that keeps on loving and caring every part of it till her last breath,

He says, she used to smell like happiness, she was the one who loved him selflessly, the one who looked into his eyes and made him fall in love with his life and everything around.

So when he held her hand for the one last time, he couldn't believe that someone like her like my nani can ever choose a man like him,

someone so delicate and fragile,

someone whose eyes would tell you a story every time you peeked into them,

someone with such a beautiful heart could ever love a man like him.

[4sss]

Perhaps my heart was blind to love until I put it in your hands and felt the braille.

J.c.A